Snakehead

had actually met in the Brecon Beacons. There had been four men in the unit to which Alex had been assigned: Wolf, Eagle, Snake, and Fox. None of them had been allowed to use their real names. While he was with them, Alex was Cub. And now that he thought about it, there had been one with a Liverpool accent. It seemed incredible that the two of them should have met up again in Bangkok, but there could be no doubt about it. Fox was standing in front of him now.
    “You were at the airport,” Alex said. “I saw you, wearing a poppy.”
    “Yes. I should have taken that off. But I’d just flown in from London myself.”
    “And you were at the Peninsula Hotel.”
    Fox nodded. “I couldn’t believe it was you when I first saw you, so I followed you to be sure. I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since, Alex. Lucky for you…”
    “Last night…” Alex’s head swam. “Was that you at the arena? You set the place on fire!”
    “I followed you over to Patpong, and I was there when those men picked you up. Then I followed them down to the Chada Trading Agency. It wasn’t easy, I can tell you. And it took me ages to weasel my way in. When I arrived, you were already in the ring. I thought you were going to get beaten to a pulp. But I’d seen where the main fuses were, so I sneaked back and turned out all the lights. Then I came looking for you. Things got a bit dicey when the lights came back on and I had to shoot a few of the opposition and throw a couple of grenades. The last time I saw you, you were in a ferry, trying to get away. It might have helped if you’d untied it first.”
    “You shot Anan Sukit.”
    “Was that his name? Well, he was trying to shoot you. It was the very least I could do.”
    “So what is this place?” Alex looked around. “What are you doing in Bangkok? And what’s your real name? You can’t go on expecting me to call you Fox.”
    “My real name’s Ben Daniels. You’re Alex Rider. Of course, I know that now.”
    “You’ve left the SAS?”
    “I got assigned to MI6 Special Operations. And since you ask, that’s where you are now. This is what you might call the Bangkok office of the Royal and General Bank.”
    The words were hardly out of his mouth when a door opened on the other side of the hallway and a woman walked into the room. Alex caught it at once…the faint smell of peppermint.
    “Alex Rider!” Mrs. Jones exclaimed. “I have to say, you’re the last person I expected to see. Come into my office immediately. I want to know—why aren’t you at school?”

11
    ARMED AND DANGEROUS
    T HE LAST TIME A LEX had seen Mrs. Jones, she had been visiting him in a North London hospital. Then she had seemed unsure of herself, regretful, blaming herself for the security lapse that had left Alex close to death on the pavement outside the MI6 offices on Liverpool Street. She had also been at her most human.
    Now she was much more like the woman he had first met, dressed severely in a slate-colored jacket and dress with a single necklace that could have been silver or steel. Her hair was tied back, and her face—with those night black eyes—was utterly serious. Mrs. Jones was not exactly attractive, but neither did she try to be. In a way, her looks exactly suited her work as head of MI6, Special Operations, one of the most secretive departments of the British secret service. They gave nothing away.
    Once again she was sucking a peppermint. Alex wondered if she had given up smoking at some time. Or was the habit also related to her job? When Mrs. Jones spoke, people had a tendency to die. It wouldn’t surprise him if she felt the need to sweeten her breath.
    The two of them were sitting in an office on the first floor of the building that stood directly behind Wat Ho. It was a very ordinary room with a wooden table and three leather chairs. Two large square windows looked out over the temple courtyard. Alex knew that all this could be deceptive. The glass was probably bulletproof. There would be hidden cameras and microphones. How many agents were there, mingling among the orange-robed monks? When it came to MI6, nothing was ever quite what it seemed.
    Ben Daniels, the man he had known as Fox, was also there. He was younger than Alex had first thought—no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, laid back and thoughtful. He was sitting next to Alex. The two of them were opposite Mrs. Jones, who had taken her place behind the table.
    Alex had told her his story, from the time